Not a Fairy-tale, Just Life
by BallinBlonde21
Summary: Princess Clarissa is at the age at which she must find a partner. When she fails to do so at the ball thrown exactly for that purpose, her father steps in and decides for her. The problem? Clary believes in true love. Can she find it in her to defy her father's wishes and pursue her own happiness? I DO NOT OWN TMI...or Jace... *cries quietly in the corner*
1. Chapter 1

_Because of the -35 degree temperatures and -60 degree wind chill in my town...NEW STORY! YAYYYYY! Yes, I stole the name from my other new story so you can now find that one under the title _Remembering Tomorrow. _The title just seemed to fit this story better...anyways, I don't have school today, so I'll be writing! Enjoy! :)_

* * *

Clarissa's eyes slid across the canvas, imagining all the possibilities, picturing the images that could appear from beneath her brush, dreaming of the techniques her tutor had shown her last year, yet she couldn't dip her brush into the paint. Nothing today was noteworthy. There was nothing magnificent that people would be mesmerized by for years to come. There was no scene beautiful enough to capture for an eternity, no inspirational moment in time to be remembered. The day was as plain as the previous days. Gray skies rose above leafless trees. Mud puddles dotted the fields, remnants of yesterday's rainfall.

Sighing, she set her brush on the table beside her easel. She rubbed small circles on her temples, already stressing about the night ahead of her. That was certainly something to be significant. Or so her father believed. "Clarissa," she stated, making her voice deep to mimic her father in the full length mirror across the room, "don't embarrass yourself tonight. This is your chance to find a suitable fiancé." She giggled lightly at herself, wondering how she and her father were even related. Where his hair was white as snow, hers was as red and as wild as flames engulfing an entire forest. Where her eyes were a shimmering green, his were black, like the charred trees of that same forest. He was tall, muscular, towering over Clary's petite frame. He was outspoken, a leader, where shyness often prevented Clary from speaking at all. They were polar opposites on every level, yet Valentine Morgenstern was her biological father.

There was a small knock at the door, dragging Clary out of her reverie. "Come in," she beckoned toward the sound. A small whine sounded from the hinges on the oak door as it was slowly slid open.

"Miss Morgenstern?" a quiet voice inquired from the crack. "It is time for you to be dressed for this evening's ball." A servant finally appeared from behind the door, carrying a gown along with her. Clary suppressed the eye roll, knowing that her maid didn't need the wrath she felt against social events.

"Of course, Maia," she replied in as cheerful of a tone as she could muster. Her face must have shown her true feelings towards it all as Maia smiled sympathetically.

"Miss Clary, there is no use lying to me. I can practically see right through you." Clary's face lifted in half a smile as she snorted. "Please do not do that at the ball tonight, Miss Clary. Your father told me to make sure you acted like a lady." She began helping Clary into tonight's gown as she said this.

"He's really hoping that I will find someone I fancy tonight, isn't he?" Maia nodded as she began tugging at the laces in Clary's corset. Clary felt the wind rush out of her lungs with the last, rib-crushing pull. Feeling light-headed, Clary was pushed down into a seat before her vanity as Maia set out to brush out the unruly set of curls atop Clary's head. She cringed as the bristles ripped through her hair. "Do you believe in true love, Maia?" She watched her maid's tan face turn bright red in the mirror.

Clearing her throat, Maia replied quickly, "I don't know what love is, Miss Clary."

"So then why does it seem like you fancy the cook? Jordan? I think his name is Jordan." Maia made a choking sound, and her face turned an even darker shade of rouge. Clary giggled at her maid's embarrassment, yelping when Maia began tugging a little too violently at her hair. She remained silent for the remainder of the hairdo, not wanting her hair to be ripped from her scalp any more than it already had been. Afterward, Maia stepped in front of her to sweep some makeup across her face.

"Not too much," she told Clary as the feather light brushes tickled her cheeks. "You are beautiful without any of it." Clary knew her cheeks were beginning to color under the pale powder Maia had applied. "Well, Miss Clary," Maia said after an hour, "what do you think?" Maia held up a crystal hand mirror so that Clary could see the back. She gasped, gently running her fingers along the intricate braids that criss-crossed and swirled over her head into a chignon in the back. A few curls were left out, framing her face perfectly. Her eyes were rimmed in shimmering gold, her lips a pale pink.

"It is completely stunning, Maia. Thank you." Just as she was about to stand, Maia pushed her down lightly and nestled an ornate golden grown on the braids.

"The finishing touch," she murmured, fixing a few things with her nimble fingers. "No you are perfect, Miss Clary. Any man would be lucky to have you." Clary gave her a smile as she left, watching the door close.

She touched her face wondering how the girl in the mirror could be her. Rising, she crossed the room, teetering on the heels Maia had insisted she wear. She positioned herself before the mirror and gasped at her reflection. The girl staring back at her was foreign, no one Clary had ever seen before. Her body was swathed in a shimmering golden gown that was tight in the bodice and flared out at her hips, and when she twirled, she glimmered like a million stars. She lifted her right arm, and the mirror copied her movements. She smiled, and the other girl smiled. The girl in the mirror couldn't be Clary. She was beautiful and confident and stunning and _radiant_. She looked prepared to enter the ball and be the center of attention, to accept the love of a boy like her father so desired, to become a woman. Clary shivered, and the girl again replicated the motion.

Clary was none of those things. She wasn't beautiful or radiant and certainly not confident! She did not want to attend tonight's ceremony. She did not want to have everyone stare at her and men ask her to dance and possibly ask to be their only dance partner forever. She couldn't marry a man for power and money, even if he didn't love her. The thought made her stomach twist into knots. Clary could not do that. She believed in love at first sight, in the idea of soul mates. She couldn't marry a man of her father's choosing, but she could never go against her father, either. She wasn't the girl in the mirror. She wasn't confident, brave, or any characteristic that would make her defy her father. Clary was too good for that.

"So it's decided then," she muttered to herself, though the words were nearly choked off by the fear she felt. "I will be finding my husband tonight." She choked on the last word, aggressively coughing until a nearby maid heard, panicked, and rushed in offering assistance.

"I'm fine," she managed to cough, although she was anything but.

X.O.X.O.X

"That was lovely, Mr. Santiago" she commented politely as she excused herself from his embrace. She'd danced with so many men that evening, and they continued to discuss the same things with her: money, business, power. The men, the dances, the conversations all overlapped and jumbled together until it was just one big memory that had the lines all crossed. Was Mr. Lightwood the Prince of Wales, or was it that Mr. Pangborn was the Prince of Wallis or Walls or Wonderland. She simply had no idea. She wove expertly between the swaying bodies to the tables with various drinks and finger foods. She removed one long glove as she reached for a sweet, an immediate chill touching the exposed skin. Her father had insisted that the ball be held in the courtyard even though the fall cold had long ago settled in Idris. She could see her breath in the air if she exhaled hard enough, but she seemed to be the only one to notice.

She sat on a marble bench and observed the gathering, much preferring that to carrying on meaningless conversations with faceless men. She watched as girls swished their skirts, batting their flirty eyelashes behind ornate masks dripping in the most expensive gems of the season. Necks were adorned with hundreds of jewels that caught and shimmered in the flickering candle light, mimicking the stars above. Men held crystal glasses of champagne, cigars hanging from between their lips as they approached any girl they fancied. Their tailored suits showed their wealth, causing girls to fan themselves in anticipation of the riches they could attain. Laughter mingled with the chatter, creating the joyous noise of human socialization, awakening the dark night and filling it with life.

She knew her own mask did very little to conceal her identity, as boy after boy approached her, asking for a memorable dance with Princess Clarissa. Little did they know that Clarissa would barely remember their name, much less the dance. She sighed. That seemed a little shallow, but the truth was, she simply wasn't interested in what the men here had to offer. She'd heard stories of rushed marriages, of the heartache and discontentedness that accompanied such things. She had not desire for that foolishness. She believed in _love_, which, to her dismay, her father believed was complete foolishness. She heard heavy footfalls near her sanctuary and braced herself for another dance.

"Clarissa," a stern voice chastised as her mind snapped to attention. The teenager straightened her posture and crossed her ankles as her father approached, his quick and heavy gait indicating his displeasure at her behavior. She glanced around at a few sets of eyes that had turned their way. Valentine had noticed also, disguising his anger with a sweet smile. He bowed and held his large hand to his daughter, his snow-white hair rustling in the breeze, his charcoal eyes narrowing. "May I have this dance, my darling?" His eyes dared her to deny him, but young Miss Morgenstern knew better than that.

"Of course, Father." She let his hand pull her off the marble bench and lead her to the center of the swaying crowd. One of his hands settled at Clary's waist, the other clasping hers gently out to their sides as they spun around the dance floor, violins creating the melody. Valentine waited until the music slowed before leaning closer to his daughter.

"Clarissa Adele Morgenstern," he scolded harshly, his grip on Clary tightening until she whimpered. "The whole meaning of these festivities was to find you a proper suitor," he growled in a hushed voice, trying to avoid the curious eavesdroppers.

"I fancy none of them, Father," she explained. "They all see my riches and position, not who I am as a person."

"But you keep turning away any eligible man that asks you to dance! How do you even know if you fancy them?!" He gnashed his teeth together to prevent himself from exploding. Collecting himself with a long, deep breath, he continued to voice his thoughts. "Marriage is not about _love_, Clarissa. It is about forming bonds to unite kingdoms and strengthen Idris through an irreversible unity." Clarissa held in the scoff that she automatically wanted to release. She did not agree with her father's beliefs. Of course marriage was about love! Was it not love that she'd witnessed between her parents for sixteen years? Knowing it was in her best interests, she decided not to egg her father on any longer with her opposing views.

"My apologizes, King Morgenstern," she replied, addressing him by his full title, hoping to calm his aggression. Valentine's harsh look dissolved into a look of happiness as he kissed his daughter's cheek.

"There, there, Clarissa. Now, go dance with the young knights and princes." He spun her around one last time before bowing and weaving through the crowd, probably in pursuit of her mother. She sighed, blowing an auburn curl from her face in the process. It wasn't a surprise that her father planned to use this innocent ball to marry her into wealth and power, but he could have been a bit more discreet about his actual intentions. Clary excused herself through the crowd, dragging her flowing golden skirts along with her back to the refreshment table. The rumble in her stomach was very unladylike, and her father would surely agree. Fine china plates and crystal glasses were distributed among the selection of cheeses and cakes and teas. Settling on a simple tea, some raspberries, and a small yellow cake, she placed them artfully on the plate, arranging them so they framed the mauve rose in the center.

"What's the point if you are simply going to eat it?" a skeptical voice asked from beside her, eyeing the art she'd created on her plate. She blushed a violent shade of red, refusing to look up. She saw his black slacks had a black shirt tucked into them, and black shoes were on his feet. At least, she assumed it was a _he_, since his voice was deep and no girl would be caught dead in pants at this party.

"It's, uh," she stammered, "just a thing I do…I guess." _Why am I so nervous?_ she asked herself harshly. _He's just another boy trying to reach the crown_. Biting her lip, she picked up her plate and glanced at his face.

"Clarissa!" a cheerful voice called from behind her, and she felt someone take her hand. Her mind was too captivated by the mysterious man before her to look away. "Clarissa, may I have this dance?" Clary didn't turn to see the man asking to twirl her across the dance floor. Her breath was captured in her throat as she tried to memorize the eyes behind the plain black mask. _Gold. _She felt herself being turned away from him and had only a second to set her plate back on the table before being whisked away into the throng of people.

"I never said yes," Clary grumbled at the middle-aged man that insisted on having a dance with the princess. She swirled and twisted as his voice droned on and on about recent battles and Clave duties. Suppressing a yawn, she excused herself from the dance, not bothering to remember her r partner's name. She allowed him to kiss her hand before disappearing once again into the protection of the crowd, ducking her head slightly to avoid attention, muttering apologies to people she accidentally bumped into, and brushing off hands that reached out to her as if she never felt them. It was rude behavior, but Clarissa knew she could never be happy with the type of man that attended such a ball, a desperate, power-hungry, soulless monster whose only attempt to seduce the princess would include dancing and talking about their current amount of power. These rancid-breathed, round-bellied men were not people capable of running Idris. They only had the capacity to destroy with the greed. It was obvious that her father had much in common with these men, though she'd never dare say that outside the safety of her own mind.

She gasped as a cold hand clamped onto her bare shoulder, yanking her around. She met her father's eyes, their usual blackness ablaze with anger. She took a cautious step backward, but Valentine only matched her pace. "Father…" she began, startled as he seized her wrist and dragged her to the edge of the dance floor. Everyone was either too drunk or involved to notice the little episode, and Clary's eyes widened in fear. She knew what her father was capable of doing. She'd seen his cruelty in the gruesome torture of someone who did as little as say his title improperly. "I was hoping to rest my ankle. They are so sore from dancing in these tiny heels that I just—"

"Save it with your sorry excuses!" He whispered, spittle flying from his tongue and landing on Clary's face. "I have had enough of your behavior. Every person here is worthy of the throne except you! Your behavior has shown me as much tonight. If you can't act for the wellbeing of the country that you will someday run, then you don't deserve to make decisions for yourself until you prove that you can. " He squeezed tighter against her hand and pressed her against the nearest wall, the stones digging into her bare back left uncovered by the dress. Footsteps began nearing the pair, and Valentine backed up a little, just enough to still enforce pain upon his daughter but make it seem like a friendly conversation. "Up to the tower," he demanded menacingly, despite the smile he'd placed across his lips. "If you don't want to join in the festivities, then you can just watch from above." With that, he released her hand and left her on her own. Her hand was throbbing, and with a quick inspection, she saw that it was bleeding from crescent-shaped cuts left behind by Valentine's nails, spotting her beautiful gown in spots of brilliant red.

"This way, Princess Clarissa," Maia whispered, appearing from the shadows and taking her arm and leading her through the gardens to the palace. "We'll bandage your hand in the tower." Clary nodded, not casting a glance backward. She knew her father was easily entertaining his guests with her mother stationed at his side, as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just assaulted his own daughter in the middle of dozens of Idris's citizens. She sighed, stepping though the door that was held open by two guards. The king could do no wrong. He was untouchable.

"There you go, Miss Clarissa," Maia cooed, gently patting her bandaged hand before placing it back in Clary's lap.

"Please, Maia. I would prefer to be called Clary." Clary was never really comfortable with having other humans wait on her hand and foot. She hated how they addressed her as if she were better than them. It was one thing if she believed she was better than her servants, but what kind of life were her servants having if they, too, believed that she was better than them. She studied Maia's face, realizing she hadn't done that in a long time, not even today as she dressed and readied her for the ball. Maia's cheeks were sunken, smeared in dirt and a little blood from Clary's hand. Her eyes were downcast, refusing to make contact with any other eyes except those of servants. Her brown hair was knotted, her two braids falling loose and dirty. Bruises laced through her tan flesh, and Clary felt bile rise in her throat. She knew her father had given her those bruises, that he abused and assaulted his servants as he wished. "Thank you, Maia," Clary said abruptly, rising from her mattress and looking away, embarrassed that her own father had done such things to a girl no older than Clary. "That is all I will be needing tonight. You should get some rest." With her head turned away, Clary heard Maia shut and lock the tower door behind her, leaving Clary in complete isolation.

She pulled a chair over to the window and opened it a little, just so she could hear the sounds of the party around her. Her father may have believed this was a punishment, but she preferred it this way. She didn't have to pretend to be interested in small talk or embarrass herself by stepping on the feet of nobles. The music comforted her as she rested her chin in her hands, searching the courtyard with her eyes, seeking something that was among the throng of people she so much detested. She didn't know exactly what she was hoping to find and didn't believe she could really find whatever it was since the people seemed to melt into one another at this altitude, until it hit her, a flash of brilliance, warming her like sunshine. She was looking for him. She was looking for the boy with the golden eyes.

* * *

_Opinions? Questions? I need feedback, people! :) Please review if you loved it, liked it, or even hated it...Thanks! :)_

_All my love,_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	2. Chapter 2

_Whaddup people! Carousing the internet like most others on Saturday night? Yep...me too! Oh, and I'm writing. So...ANOTHER CHAPTER?! I THINK YESSSSSS! I've been soooo busy getting ready to graduate and stuff that I haven't had time, but here it is...another chapter. AND someone was kind enough to clear up my confusion. Alicante is the city. Idris is the country. Valentine rules Alicante. But for my story, It's like it's own country...okay? Just go with it! Muahahahahahahahaha :) Anyways! ENJOY!_

* * *

"Miss Clarissa!" She heard her name being called from down the hall, the soft pitter-patter of servant shoes echoing it. She sighed, tucking a stray curl back into her thick braid. It was difficult to find a moment to herself in this castle, let alone an hour or two to train. She whipped a knife at the target she'd been throwing practicing with, watching the blade drive in slightly to the right of center. Biting back cuss words at her inaccuracy, she turned away. _Cursing is very unladylike_, her father would chastise whenever an expletive slipped from her tongue. She stuck her knife among its counterparts, immediately feeling defenseless. She never felt completely comfortable without a weapon, since her ladylike frame didn't suit her well in a fight. She hated the nakedness of a sheath-less thigh, the helplessness of an unarmed maiden. She shook away those thoughts, reminding herself that her body, though small and thin, was covered in lean, toned muscles, honed from years of shadowhunting training, and that her mind was sharp, filled with fighting tactics and skills that would give her the upper hand on even the biggest opponent. "Miss Clarissa!" her name was called again, more urgently than before. Immediately, the hair on Clary's neck stood on end, anxiety hit her like a tsunami. Were they being attacked? Tyranny in the castle?

"I'm in the training room!" she hollered back, fingers reaching back toward the hilt of the knife she'd just put away, when Maia appeared in the door frame, cheeks flushed from searching the castle for the princess. Clary sighed, withdrawing her hand from the knife rack and putting a hand on her hip. Maia had a grin the size of Idris on her face, leading Clary to the assumption that no one was invading the palace.

"Miss Clarissa, you must follow me. You have a visitor." Clary groaned, though inaudibly. She absolutely loathed any visitor that stepped into the castle's halls. There were two types of visitors to the castles: the friends and the enemies. The so-called friends were usually powerful yet stuffy old men that her father needed to entertain to comprise treaties and alliances with. The enemies, on the other hand, made Clarissa shudder. These possible suitors, as her father preferred to call them, were men that were several years older than Clary, with stubbly hairs on their chin and warrior badges on their belt. They told stories of battle and triumph and tragedy while Clary struggled to stay awake.

Clary mindlessly followed Maia as they wove through the tangled labyrinth of halls. Because of her inattentiveness, Clary was startled when she found herself in her bedroom, standing before her floor length mirror while Maia scuttled about, gathering hair gems and earrings. "Uh…Maia?" Clary questioned as Maia removed a pale yellow dress from Clary's armoire. Maia made a tsking noise at Clary's unrefined speech. Clary brushed it away. "Why must I wear a dress?" Clary was generally used to wearing dresses, attending balls and events nearly every day, but to receive guests, shadowhunting gear was the norm. Everyone in Idris was trained to fight demons, and the gear that went along with the occupation had become an accepted form a dress. Yet, here she was, being slipped into a tea-length gown. Maia pushed her onto the chaise lounge to strap cream-colored heels on her feet. Since she detested heels, Clary usually put up a fight, sometimes nearly kicking poor Maia in the face, but the redhead was too distracted by the confusion that she barely even noticed the uncomfortable and impractical footwear. "What is going on?" Maia laughed a little and shook her head.

"Miss Clarissa," she said, brushing powder onto Clary's face, flushed from her training, "I am not in the position to tell you." She snapped the little makeup compact shut and shifted to weave Clary's hair into a simple up-do. Clary groaned, immediately angered by her maid's formality and secrecy. "How does that look, Miss Clarissa?"

"Splendid," Clary replied with nary a glance in the mirror. She let Maia push diamonds through her ears and clasp some around her throat before rising from her seat. The suspense was killing her. Maybe it was the Queen of England! She really hoped it was a lady of royal status. Or maybe a celebrity! Her heart fluttered at the idea of meeting a famous French poet or an English painter. She sighed and took Maia's arm, allowing her to escort her to the drawing room. She'd always wanted to meet someone so relevant to literature or art, someone whose words or art had touched the world. She nearly tripped down the stairs as another realization hit her. Maybe it was the blonde boy. From her party. Maybe he was coming back to ask her on a date. She cursed her heart as it started fluttering a beat faster. She didn't need a boy. She was completely independent, strong-willed, and capable of running Alicante alone.

"Here we are, Miss Clarissa," Maia stated, standing outside the closed doors of the drawing room. The oak wood was ornately carved in an intricate design of the willow trees that dotted the castle's landscape, a gift of her father's to her mother. Clary froze. But what if it was the boy? Her breathing quickened, and oh my goodness, was that sweat under her arms? Maia gave Clary a slight nudge toward the door, oblivious to the redhead's near hyperventilation. "Miss Clarissa," she said in a brisk whisper, urging Clary to move forward. Instead of pushing Clary into the future, that small murmur brought back the past, reminding Clary that for years as a child, she'd believed her name actually included Miss. She'd write Miss Clarissa Morgenstern on her assignments for her tutor, and no one would correct her. She'd introduce herself as Miss Clarissa and never be questioned. She hadn't known that Miss wasn't her name until her brother explained the purpose of the title. She sighed at the thought of her brother. _Jonathon_. She bit back tears and hurled herself through the doors.

"Ahhh, Miss Clarissa," her father purred, seated in a large armchair by a heartily roaring fire. "Nice of you to grace us with your presence." The niceness of his tone was force, fake, but Clary knew the guests could never tell. She curtsied at the king and scanned the room for the guest. She saw the back of a head, the chair turned so that it faced her father and cut off Clary's vision of a face, but Clary groaned inwardly anyway. It was a man. She could tell because she could see the back of his head. His hair was a deep brown, probably black if the window hadn't allowed the afternoon sunshine to illuminate it like that of an angel's. Plus, he must be tall, since she could, in fact, see his head over the top of the chair. That chair engulfed not only Clary but her father also. She averted her gaze, thinking that she'd spent minutes staring at his hair. It couldn't have been, though, since he was only just beginning to rise to great her. _Here it goes again_. She tried to gracefully float into the room, hoping that she didn't stumble along the way.

"It's so nice to meet you, Princess Clarissa," came the expected greeting. What she didn't expect was the smooth, blasé voice. She swore her hand was shaking as the held out her hand, raising her eyes to his face for the first time when his warm, soft, lips placed a kiss on the pale skin. Her legs nearly gave out. He was by far the most handsome man that had ever visited the palace, aside from the golden mystery boy, who didn't really count since he never really came inside the castle. This boy before her, though, was the complete opposite of the one in the courtyard. His eyes were deep, seductive, the color of ashes. His nose, though slightly too large for his face, actually brought his features together attractively, accentuating the straight teeth and warm smile that currently adorned his face. _Sober up, woman_! Clary commanded herself when she nearly fainted just to see how strong his muscled arms actually were. _He's just trying to become a king. Just trying to become a king._ She repeated, her mantra for every date, though none had ever struck her in this way before. Her chest, usually an empty cavity in the presence of these men, was complete chaos. Her heart thrummed heavily out of rhythm, her lungs wanting her to gulp quick breaths of air. It took every bit of self-control she'd acquired to remain calm. Mere moments had passed, though they felt like hours, before he spoke. "Would you like to go for a walk through the gardens with me, Princess?" She glanced at her father, checking for the nod of approval. It came, of course, since he selected these men himself, and she let the boy take her arm and lead her into the cooling afternoon air.

They'd reached the row of rose bushes before speaking. "Oh," the man said suddenly, as if he'd surprised himself, "where are my manners? I am Sebastian Verlac, Major General of the Alicante Cavalry." And there is was. The beginning of the war stories that was sure to follow. Hopefully, Sebastian would leave out the gruesome details that other warriors enjoyed sharing. It's not that she couldn't take a good fight or see some blood. She just really didn't care to hear the sound a severed limb makes when stepped on by a horse. "But I prefer to be called Seb."

Clary put a smile on her face, careful to step around a larger pebble that had found its way onto the path. "Well, I'm Princess Clarissa Morgenstern, although I really loathe that name and would much rather be called Clary." Most men were taken aback by that, expecting her to be like most ladies and not speak much. This is how Clary usually drove men away. She flashed her opinions proudly, forwent correct grammar, and in some instances, swore. But Sebastian merely laughed, a joyful sound, very unlike her father's evil cackle. It warmed her insides.

"_Loathe_," he repeated, as if trying the word on his tongue for the first time, "I cannot say that I have ever heard that word used in a conversation before." Clary couldn't help the grin that crept onto her face.

"I read a lot of old literature. Sometimes the language just slips into my vocabulary unnoticed." Seb chuckled again and, surprisingly, Clary enjoyed herself on the rest of their walk, liking the thought-provoking conversations they had about Chaucer and Shakespeare. They discussed da Vinci's paintings and Greek architecture, and Clary found herself intellectually stimulated as Sebastian kissed her hand goodbye, promising to return soon. She couldn't keep the smile off her face as she was asked how her evening was, eliciting a small smirk from her mother and a positive remarks from her father. She kept replaying the afternoon over in her head as Maia braided her hair for bed, provoking a few questions from her usually reserved maid.

"He was delightful," she responded to Maia's question about his personality. "He was considerate and valued my opinion. And he didn't talk about battle! Not once! We discussed art and literature and everything under the sun _besides_ war! It was incredible." She saw her maid's approving grin in the mirror before being ushered to bed, the covers tucked securely around her. Her eyelids slipped closed, but not before a flash of gold ran through her mind.

* * *

_So, Comments, thoughts, suggestions? I'm open to anything! Maybe another chapter this weekend. Idk because I really need to ride my unicorn...she's been cooped up for awhile cuz snow and stuff...so...yeah...I'm weird...deal with it! :)_

_All my love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


End file.
